


time and hearts (wear us thin)

by ninwrites



Series: soft hearts, electric souls [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec helps, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst and Feels, Book References, Book Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Comfort/Angst, Communication, Domestic Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Hurt Magnus Bane, Kissing It Better, M/M, Poetic, Prompt Fill, Protective Alec Lightwood, Romantic Fluff, Supportive Alec Lightwood, Tumblr Prompt, arguably - Freeform, especially TID, head of the new york institute and high warlock of brooklyn, magnus has a bad day, set a year after current canon basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 23:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: "Ragnor, his sempiternal companion, is nothing more than dust and shadows."Magnus struggles to cope with the suffocating reminder of Ragnor's passing, and the knowledge that he doesn't have to suffer alone.





	time and hearts (wear us thin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boldbiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boldbiscuit/gifts).



> For the unbelievably endearing boldbiscuit, who requested angst, who's support is unfailing, who continues to push me to consider alternate angles to my fics, and my writing, and who always has a thousand kind words at the ready. Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> title from 'Sick of Losing Soulmates' by Dodie Clark
> 
> hints of book canon - however, I do blatantly ignore most events of COHF because of my own personal brand of self-denial. book-spoilers, especially relating to The Infernal Devices, though I've tried to keep spoilers hinted at within the show to a minimum, as I don't know what direction they'll take.
> 
> Ragnor is pictured in this as a mix of show and book!canon: [check this](https://tmifandom.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/tumblr_mld8knvxso1qck31zo2_500.jpg) for reference.

**220 - _"I just need you here with me right now."_ \- malec**

 

**[prompt list](https://literallylin.tumblr.com/post/156198011711/prompt-list)**

 

**-**

 

"Still nothing?"

Alec glances up, thumb hovering over the keypad of his phone. Isabelle's perched on the breakfast bench, yoghurt in hand. They'd been called out as backup on a demon hunt, pre-dawn - Alec had reluctantly dragged himself from the warm cocoon of Magnus' arms, stumbled around the dark apartment and made his way to Hell's Kitchen, reluctantly enlisting a cab to get him closer, though his rapport with the driver had been minimal at best.

Fighting a horde of Rahab demons - lizard-like entities, with bulb-shaped stingers on the end of their long forked tongues, and a row of teeth where their eyes should be - takes the energy and enthusiasm out of a person pretty quickly.

Not that Alec had been given any chance to rest. He had to ensure all the injured Shadowhunters were sent to the infirmary, that no mundanes spotted anything, not to mention the delegation of reports he'd end up having to sign off on anyway.

And there's the matter of his dislocated shoulder. Jace and Isabelle had helped reset it, and with a well-placed  _iratze_ , the pain has lessened considerably, but there's a creaking ache when he moves it too far, or too sharply, that likely won't fade until later that day, at the earliest.

Leaving him on administration for the rest of the day, something both tedious and unfortunately necessary, when one is the Head of the New York Institute.

It wouldn't be as boring if Magnus was answering his texts.

"He's probably busy," Alec shoves his phone into his pocket, unable to look at the stream of unbroken green bubbles any longer. "He works weird hours."

It's only eleven in the morning. Alec's not the clingy type, and he's been dating Magnus for so long - almost a year now - it's not exactly a situation that's foreign to either of them. He trusts that Magnus will answer when he has the time, it's not like Alec has never put him in a similar position; there was once a rather unfortunate time where Alec had to abruptly leave and travel to Alicante for a few days, having been summoned by the council, and hadn't had the chance to let Magnus know.

For all their technical advances, Shadowhunters are yet to figure out how to work around the demon towers in Idris that halt any electronical communication. Fire messages work fine, but not when a person is given little time to eat, let alone write out a letter for the first eighteen hours of their visit.

Magnus had been overwhelmingly understanding, and he deserves the same respect from Alec this time around.

"Maybe you should take an early night - do something nice for Magnus, like making him dinner?" Isabelle suggests, silver spoon pressed to her bottom lip. "You've been here far too much, recently. We can handle ourselves when you're not around."

"I know that," Alec doesn't snap. He just enunciates. "It's not that I think you're incapable, it's just - it's my job, to make sure everything is running smoothly, to be here..."

By all rights he should live at the Institute, but his theory is that their parents, before all Hell broke loose, ran the Institute from Idris most of the time, and Brooklyn is a lot closer than Alicante.

"And you're doing a wonderful job." Isabelle promises, dark eyes alight with fond exasperation. "But you're a person too, Alec, and you deserve time off. You came in ridiculously early today, it's only fair that you leave early too - I'm sure Magnus would love having you home."

Alec presses his lips together, but doesn't reply. Isabelle, unfortunately, has a point. Magnus respects Alec's working hours in the same way that Alec respects his, but he has mentioned that he likes getting to spend the night with Alec, and he's on this strange kick recently, to show Alec all of the 'iconic' films he has 'devastatingly' missed out on.

"That's not the worst idea you've ever had..." Alec admits, reluctantly, hands wringing together before him. "We'll see." He amends, when Isabelle gets that telltale mischievous glint in her eyes that speaks of only trouble. "If there's nothing important or vital for me to do here, then I might head out early. But only if nothing here needs my attention."

Isabelle hops off the breakfast bench with a fluid grace. "Leave it up to me." She declares, exiting the room before Alec can say anything, before he can even begin his futile attempts at convincing her not to intervene.

He drafts a new text to Magnus, asking if he has any special plans for dinner, before deleting it with a twisted frown. He has work to do, he needs to focus on that, and leave the issue of whatever is happening with Magnus to later, when he's not busy.

If he wants any chance of getting home early, he needs to start work on the towering pile of paperwork decorating his desk. He loves his job, he does, he loves being a leader, a diplomat, helping pave forth a path for better relations between Shadowhunters and Downworlders - but the tediousness of menial tasks will never interest him.

(And if he checks his phone, hopelessly, between reports under the guise of giving himself a break, it's nobody's business but his own.)

 

* * *

 

Alec's boots make resounding sounds against the rickety metal staircase leading up to the loft - to  _their_ loft. It's been months, but Alec sometimes still has to remind himself that he does, technically, live here.

That it's not just Magnus' loft, but theirs. Their home.

Isabelle had kicked him out, figuratively - though she did at one point threaten it physically - around five, hands firm on his back as he reluctantly made his way towards the front door. She'd fluently dismissed every concern he'd fired at her, promising that if anything bad happened he would be the first to know, even if it's something as slight as Jace's bruised ego.

Then she'd kissed his cheek and sent him on his way, and by the time Alec was down the steps, other concerns had filled his mind. Like what possible reason could be behind Magnus' complete radio silence the whole day.

There's been nothing. No contact whatsoever. No calls, no texts, not even a blasted fire message - Alec had been tempted to call Magnus in, professionally, with some half-assed lie about wards, but upon actual thought, figured that would just be abusing the lengths they've made with Shadowhunter/Downworlder relations, and the point of that was to strengthen bonds, not test them.

If he had of done that, he wouldn't have been any better than his parents, and Alec has worked far too hard, to ruin it all now.

Instead, he's let his worry crawl over him like a second skin, tight and suffocating, until his lungs are tight and strained inside his chest. It doesn't ease up any when he gets to the door, like he'd been secretly hoping. He slides his key in, twisting the lock - Magnus might not even be home, which just adds to his confusion, the band of concern around his heart constricting painfully.

"Magnus?" He calls out, his voice thick.

The apartment is dark, darker than it should be for the time of day. It's not quite enough to require activation of his Nyx rune, but he still squints a little to distinguish what is in front of him, because his habit of bumping into things is bad enough in the daylight.

The thick, black outer-curtains have been drawn, spilling onto the floor like ink, and that perhaps is the biggest clue of all that something isn't right, because Magnus usually lets  _some_  light in, and it's getting late anyway, there's nothing he could be hiding - even vampires could walk around the apartment with just the lace under-curtains drawn.

"Magnus?" He calls out, again, terror leaking into his voice despite his best attempts to keep it reined in. "Magnus, are you home?"

His hand rests on the seraph blade strapped to his thigh, his bow not the best option when it's hard to see where he's shooting. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, deafeningly loud.

He almost misses the whisper-quiet  _"Alec?"_  that croaks out from the direction of their bedroom. He rushes towards the sound, hand tightening on his blade, a thousand impossible scenarios erupting in his mind.

Magnus, sprawled on the bed, injured, bleeding, pale and near-death. Or worse, curled up on the ground, unable to even make it to the bed. Sickly and thin, depleted of magic and unable to do anything to help himself.

Anything could have happened, and in the time it takes Alec to cross into the bedroom, he's managed to think of them all.

"Magnus?"

He skids to a sharp halt, barely past the threshold of their bedroom. It's lighter in here, the dusk rays painting the room through the thin part of the lace curtains. Magnus is curled up on the window seat, a fairly new feature he'd installed for a taste of something new. Alec has taken to reading there, when he wakes up early in the morning, especially if Magnus has had a late night in. It's off to the side, giving an aura of shelter, and quiet enough to enjoy some privacy without being completely cut off from the rest of the loft.

Magnus is squashed against the corner, legs pulled up tightly to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees. He's changed since the morning, but not by much - black silk pants, with a dark emerald silk dressing gown, untied and loose, revealing a single necklace pressed below his collarbone - off which hangs an engraved arrowhead.

Alec isn't sure he's seen Magnus take it off, since he gave it to him, after a particularly bad encounter with a  _kappa_  demon - something for Magnus to tether himself to when Alec is out on a hunt; Alec had given it to Magnus with the promise that he would try his best to return safely, the necklace a symbol of that.

So far, he's managed to fulfill that promise, and seeing it settles something inside of Alec. He's safe, and so is Magnus, and after that realisation sinks in, breathing becomes a little easier.

Things are not  _okay_ , though. Alec isn't a fool, he knows that much.

He takes a few slow, hesitant steps towards Magnus, the way he would a recently-turned wolf, weary of how his actions are going to be perceived, and wishing not to startle or cause any more unnecessary harm.

Magnus is looking out the window, the planes of his face highlighted by soft golden rays. His hair is mussed, tangled and wayward locks spilling over his forehead - which is strange, because even on Magnus' really bad days, he puts effort into styling himself; actually, on his bad days, he puts more work into his appearance.

Things aren't just bad, they're on a new level of terrible that Alec is yet to have experienced - something has struck Magnus so deeply he's become a ghost of the man only last night Alec was playing strip chess with - they'd tried poker, but Alec isn't as good at hustling as Magnus, and it was a very uneven playing field.

"I'm sorry about my radio silence," Magnus' voice breaks the eerie silence, but it provides little comfort to Alec, for Magnus sounds thin and strained and  _broken._  "My phone died."

"It's fine," Alec replies, even though a selfish part of him thinks it would have been nice to find out earlier. It's not the time for such considerations, and besides, he knows that Magnus is safe, and alive, so it doesn't really matter anymore.

If Alec is good at anything, it's prioritising.

He takes a few careful steps, until he's hovering about the other side of the window seat, arms folded loosely over his chest. He can see Magnus better now, and the state he's in drives something thin and sharp through the center of Alec's heart. His eyelids are smudged with dark eyeshadow, like he's been rubbing at them, and there's twisted lines of mascara streaked down his cheeks, stark against the grey pallor of his face. Unshaved stubble spots his jaw, lips pulled in a thin grimace and a hunch to his shoulders that Alec can sympathise painfully with.

Alec doesn't know what to say. Asking if Magnus has had a bad day feels stupid and pointless, but he doesn't know what else he's supposed to ask, he's never seen Magnus quite like this, and if he presses about whatever is bothering him, he could end up reminding Magnus of something he's trying to forget, and he's already been there, and done that before, that's likely the last thing Magnus needs right now.

Ultimately, he needs Magnus to hint at something, anything, to give Alec some idea of what's gone wrong, because then he has something to work off of, some point to direct him.

Alec fiddles with the sleeve of his leather jacket, nervously. Magnus hasn't turned his head, yet, still gazing endlessly out the window, a lost-in-thought kind of gaze. Something twists in Alec's gut, tighter and tighter with each second of silence that passes.

He's contemplating walking out, making some tea - because it's the kind of thing that Magnus would do - when Magnus clears his throat. Even that sounds pained.

"It's been a year," He whispers, hoarsely. "A whole year, since Ragnor's death."

Alec deflates, shoulders sagging. He'd been - preoccupied with other things, at the time of Ragnor's death, and by the time he had heard of it, he'd cancelled his own wedding, lost his  _parabatai_  to Valentine and skirted around the edges of his first ever relationship.

When he and Magnus had gotten close enough to actually talk about these things, it had been made clear that Magnus would rather leave the past in the past, and Alec respected Magnus too much to push the matter; Magnus' past is his to share, and he's already given Alec an insight into some of his darkest moments, Alec doesn't expect to know anything, ever.

He feels horrible, that he'd never noticed, that the anniversary had creeped up on him without his awareness. He should have known, should have been prepared, should have done something to help Magnus.

Everything is slotting into place now, a macabre puzzle.

"I was younger," Magnus continues, like he hadn't left off anywhere. "Lived it too. Ragnor was such a grouchy old man at times, constantly shooting down every idea I put forth. But he was good to me, he helped me when I needed it most, saved me from my own self-destruction - and now he's gone, and there's a hole inside me where he used to fit."

"I'm sorry," Alec whispers, because really, what else is there for him to say? "Mags, I'm so, so sorry."

Magnus looks up then, and the pure, unadulterated anguish in his eyes shatters what thin composure Alec had been holding onto. "I never imagined this would happen," He admits, hands tightening around his knees.

Alec sinks into the seat opposite Magnus, not touching, just there.

"He was immortal." Magnus laughs, but it's too sharp. "I know, I wax on about the possibility of dying at any time, and there is that, there's always that possibility, but I never considered  _Ragnor_  dying. He wasn't just immortal, he was eternal, unmoving, a feature in the universe."

"Is there anything I can do?" Alec asks, feeling a new level of hopeless. "Anything, to help?"

"Unfortunately," Magnus exhales, glancing up through dark and hooded eyes. "I don't think so."

Alec digs his nails into the soft flesh of his palm, a grounding force, a way for him to settle his own thoughts, because he'll be no good to Magnus if he can't keep himself together. This is about Magnus, his pain, his loss, his departed friend.

"I can leave," He doesn't want to, he really doesn't, but if it's what Magnus needs, he'll be out the door in a second. "I can spend the night at the Institute, if you want to be alone. I completely understand, if you need your space right now."

A beat of silence passes, pregnant and heavy, and Alec resigns to the fact there's nothing he can do to help Magnus right now. He turns around, foot planted on the ground, prepared to call Isabelle and inform her he'll be staying there tonight - when Magnus reaches out, wrapping an elegant hand around Alec's wrist.

Alec glances down, at the chipped nail polish and the lack of rings, and winces internally.

"Please, don't leave." Magnus pleads, his voice frail.

"I don't know what to do, to help." Alec admits, plaintive, a cold chill washing over him.

"Just, stay." Magnus blinks, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I really just need you here with me right now."

"If it's what you need, I'll stay." Alec promises. "I'll do anything, anything you need."

Magnus shuffles, and almost instinctively, Alec opens up his arm, a silent invitation. Magnus cuddles into his side, one arm wrapped around Alec's waist, head tucked into the crook of his neck. It's not the best position, the angle is all wrong and Alec's muscles are pulling from the contortion, but he's not selfish enough to move.

He just holds Magnus, tightly, protectively, and murmurs quiet nothings into his hair, wishing to anyone who'll listen that Magnus' pain eases, even slightly, and soon.

Shadowhunters face death, every day, and he's seen the loss of people he's known before, but never someone as close to him as Ragnor clearly was to Magnus. It would be like, like losing Clary, or Isabelle - not so much Jace, if only because losing Jace involves losing an actual piece of his soul, and that is said to feel like being torn in half and barely existing as such.

But this rolling grief is both unimaginable, and palpable. As quiet sobs rack Magnus' hunched frame, Alec feels an encompassing ache setting into his bones, empathetic and desperate.

He can't fathom what it would be like to lose someone you thought would never die.

Perhaps, and although the thought sends shards of ice through every inch of him, he forces himself past it - perhaps, it's what he would feel, if he lost Magnus, if Magnus died, before Alec did.

They've always discussed the matter of death with the knowledge that, statistically speaking at the very least, Alec would pass before Magnus. He can't, physically can't imagine what it would be like to live when Magnus hasn't.

If that's what Magnus is feeling right now...

Alec tightens his hold, peppers soft kisses along Magnus' hairline, and sends hateful thoughts towards Valentine, for being in most ways the source of Magnus' pain, though the vile man is long gone and burned now.

He mutters words of love and apologies, even as Magnus' aching tears leave wet marks on his jacket, his neck, dripping down beneath his shirt to his collarbone. Even as Alec's heart splinters in second-hand grief, desperation forcing his hold to tighten.

"I'm not going anywhere," He whispers, as Magnus' sobs fade into quiet shakes. "I promise."

 

* * *

 

The day had been spread out with potential when Magnus had first woken up.

Admittedly, Alec was missing, which was unfortunate, but his schedule was surprisingly free, an odd lack of clients, and that had caused an inspired stream of consciousness as his body woke itself up.

He'd thought up at least eight surprises he could plan for Alec, including but not limited to a candlelight dinner on the balcony, and an impromptu portal-hop to Musée du Louvre, for Alec's face lights up most adorably when wandering museums and exhibitions, and he's always understandably grouchy after an early-start; and then the reality of the day had sunk in, stealing the very breath from Magnus' lungs.

_Ragnor._

His dear, sweet emerald prince had passed a year to the day, and for a fleeting moment, Magnus had almost forgotten.

Grief and guilt hit him, hard like a sucker punch to his solar plexus. The horrid, twisted voice in the far depths of his mind, that only comes out in his darkest moments, to taunt and demean him, chatters on with sharp teeth about how horrible he is, to have forgotten, to have let himself forget, to have let the memory of his friend slip through his fingers like grains of sand, like his presence never mattered.

He tears himself out of bed, chest heaving with empty breaths, the tips of his fingers cold despite the heat coursing through the room.

Alec, with all his charms, had thought to flick on the heater before he'd left, knowing how Magnus despises the cold. It's a charming gesture, but does nothing to chase the darkness seeping into Magnus' very core, snaking tendrils of despair reaching out to his heart, tainting it with a soul-deep pain he hadn't felt since the activation of that torturous  _agony_  rune.

Because Ragnor, his sempiternal companion, is nothing more than dust and shadows, to quote Horace, and it had almost slipped Magnus' notice.

"If you were here," He mutters to the lonely room, knowing Ragnor can't hear him, but pretending, for a moment, that the afterlife has something of a telephonic system. "You wouldn't let me live this down."

The irony of his words isn't lost on him, but he's flailing, and it's something of a familiar standpoint. He'd forgotten Ragnor's birthday, once, and hadn't been able to live it down for the entire century that followed. He'd tried pointing out, foolishly, that Ragnor has had so many birthdays, missing one shouldn't be that much of a sore spot for him.

Ragnor had in turn pointed out Magnus' habit of changing both his age and his birthday at any given whim, and suitably demolished any comeback Magnus might have had.

He was good at that. Bringing Magnus down a peg. Knocking him off the rather egotistical pedestal he allowed others to put him on. Ragnor had kept him humble, kept him sane and somewhat human - and the reminder of his loss buries under Magnus' skin like an impenetrable itch.

He tugs on the closest thing he can find, which happens to be one of Alec's ratty sweaters, grey and faded in patches, with holes at the sleeves for thumbs to slide in, and an undeniably comforting softness. Best of all, it smells of him, musky with notes of sandalwood and something terribly  _Alec._

Magnus burrows himself into it, breathing in the scent, the cotton tickling his mouth. He exhales deeply, eyes stinging with unshed tears. It's been years, decades, centuries, since he's had to face such flooding grief, and he's forgotten how he used to handle it.

He knows there's things he should do.

Catarina, despite her steel and composed exterior, would be hurting just as much as him, but likely wouldn't take the day off, her ridiculous and absolutely true notion that mundanes wouldn't survive without her help taking away any chance at a selfish day of escapism and heavy drinking.

Raphael, who didn't share as many years with Ragnor as Magnus, but still cared for him in his own odd way, deserves some word. There's artifacts, too, of Ragnor's that he needs to hand over, that Raphael probably wants back.

Try as he might, Magnus simply can't will himself to make contact. With either of them. With anyone.

Instead, he huddles himself out on the balcony with a steaming cup of Earl Grey, his own personal brand of torture, and watches the city spread before him carry on as though nothing is different, all the whilst a maelstrom rages inside him.

 

* * *

 

It all sinks in a little harder, a little deeper, when he realises why he has no clients.

Catarina, and likely Tessa, in their kind-hearted glory, have probably spread word around to ensure he's left alone for the day - Catarina had done a similar thing after Camille had dug her talons into his heart and tore it to shreds, so that he could be alone in his pained grief.

Magnus makes a mental note, to send them flowers or something bigger, at a later date when he's composed, to thank them for every care they'd taken to make the day just that little bit easier for him, though easy seems like an improper term.

Nothing is easy.

He tries getting dressed, a small act that he does every day, to at least trick himself into believing that the day isn't entirely wasted, because Ragnor was always pushing him to do something, be productive, not lounge around - centuries they may have had, but Ragnor was all for seizing the moment, though he did it in a far less impetuous manner.

Magnus sits himself at his vanity, changed into his own clothes, black pants and an emerald green robe that he's pretty sure he'd bought to tease Ragnor with - his greatest amusement had often lied in well-intentioned quips about Ragnor's unglamoured skin colour, a habit he indulged enough to lead Ragnor to step in first, leaving Magnus alight with thinly veiled glee.

'Green with envy' is now a metaphor he won't be able to hear, without a sharp pang inside the crater of his chest.

His attempt to do his makeup falls a little short, anything bright making him look like he's forcing himself to be happy, and anything else simply highlighting his dull, sparkless eyes. Eventually, he makes the decision to stick to dark colours, an embodiment of how he feels inside, an expression of his despair, more for the monotony of the routine than any actual comfort.

On a day like this, there is nothing that will comfort him, in spite of his best efforts.

The dark eyeshadow cuts along his lid, mascara curling his lashes, until his eyes are barely noticeable, swallowed by the darkness the way he has been. He leaves his hair alone, the dark locks curling against his forehead as close to a curtain as he's going to get; he's not trying to be noticed, but rather the opposite.

Magnus keeps most of the light out of his apartment, so the external atmosphere of the loft matches his internal one, and crawls into himself, hunched and inverted, all the while ignoring the infrequent buzz of his phone, until it all becomes too much, until the vibrations bore into his mind, and with a flick of his wrist his phone smashes into the nearest wall, a splinter of technological pieces.

At least then, the buzzing stops. The chatter inside his head is loud enough.

 

* * *

 

Magnus gets a fire message at three, flickering in front of his face, harmless sparks falling onto his lap. He's hidden away in the library, in the dusty armchair Ragnor had insisted he keep for when he visited, for Magnus' furniture was always too bright and too firm for his tastes. The armchair still creaks just slightly when he moves, the springs as old as the chair, patent brown leather that belongs in the 60's, and Magnus can't bring himself to fix it, because Ragnor never did.

The message is from the Spiral Labyrinth.

_My dearest Magnus,_

_I offer my sincerest and deepest condolences. Grief such as yours is unfathomable, it hooks into your skin and refuses to let you go - but I have lived through it, and I have trust that you will too._

_Look after yourself. Please._

_Yours in fond affection, Tessa Gray._

 

He scrunches the message in his hand, nails digging into his palm. The polish, a suave midnight, is chipped and devoid in places, but he doesn't have the energy or the care to fix them. It's almost a ritualistic thing, by this point, something to calm him down, and relax him.

It feels cheap, to attempt a task used to distract his mind, on a day he should be devoting to the man he owes practically everything to.

Food. Tessa had meant food, in part, when she asked Magnus to look after himself. As though he can eat at a time like this.

He slumps in his chair, paper still crumpled in hand. His thoughts are scattered today, and his sour mood isn't helping much. Tessa is only trying to help. He'd been the same, after Will had passed, encouraging her to eat, to look after herself and not just her children, to not let Will's death stop her from living.

After time had begun to heal her wounds, he'd encouraged her to use Will's memory to keep her going, to let her love for him, and his for her, lift her up instead of dragging her down. He remembers telling her, over tea the way they always shared the most important conversations, that loss never gets any easier, that grief never weighs any less, but that letting that stop you is worse than the deed itself.

By his own chords, he should be remembering Ragnor, remembering the good and not focusing on the knife twisted in his gut, but he can't. It's too fresh, too raw - he'd tried too hard to move on in the early stages, and he's feeling the repercussions for his ignorance now, as he rightly should.

Because he loves Tessa - and because he'd made a promise to Ragnor a long time ago, to look after himself, in all ways, his heart and his soul - he attempts to eat.

He conjures a light caprese panini, from a sandwich bar a few blocks down he has a working relationship with, and retires to the lounge, not wishing to disrespect Ragnor any more by eating in his favourite chair.

Magnus manages to take three bites, a fair effort he thinks, before it comes back up. Bile paints his mouth, and the inside of the toilet bowl, and when he stands up his face is pale and drawn, as though any colour has decided to abandon him. He splashes water over his face, and then just stands, hands wrapped around the edge of the gilded sink, chest heaving with impossible breaths.

"I can't do this," He mutters to walls without ears. "This isn't how it was meant to go."

His reflection, while considerate, doesn't offer much help. He scrubs at his eyes, wishing the ache behind them to leave, and his hands come away smeared with black. Magnus sighs, despondently, his makeup officially ruined, though it hadn't been all that together in the first place. What little energy he'd been gripping onto has left with the contents of his stomach, washed down the drain leaving only his dread and his suffering behind.

When he stalks back into the lounge, the afternoon sun pokes at him like an annoying child begging for attention. He discards his barely-touched panini with a wave of his hand, then draws the curtains closed with a twist of his finger. They're thick and heavy-duty, left for only the direst of situations, such as when Raphael staggers in midday, or an injured vampire desperately needs his help.

They cloak the room in silky darkness, and whilst it's not a comfort, it isn't a hindrance either. Far more comfortable, speaking in relative terms, than standing pricked by bright rays of sun that imply more happiness than Magnus is willing to receive, or truly that deserving of.

Better the day pass by with the respect of mourning, than with the ploy of delight.

 

* * *

 

"I need to get this to Raphael."

Magnus pulls himself from Alec's protective hold, almost startled, as though something had sparked an idea inside of his mind and his body reacted instantaneously.

Alec frowns, but doesn't ask. Magnus pulls something from the pocket of his robe, a bronze coin that flicks under and over his fingers like a mundane magic trick. "Ragnor left it at his cottage, in Idris. He used to teach there, actually."

"At the Academy?" Alec asks, cautiously. "I thought it was closed down, after the mess with ... with the Circle."

His parent's involvement, Valentine's scourge, all still burn in his mind like an unforgettable imprint.

"It was." Magnus swallows, gaze still caught on the coin in his hand. "But Ragnor stayed, in the hope of teaching those who would listen, of providing the new generation-" He scoffs, quietly. "Your generation, I suppose - with the knowledge that the Circle lacked, so that such an uprising wouldn't occur again."

Alec doesn't say anything, because there isn't much to say. The events of the last year have left scorch marks on them all, some soul-deep, and it's not something that can be discussed lightly.

Magnus holds the coin up, catching the light. It's etched on one side with a wreath, a symbol Alec recognises from his days studying with Hodge, as a symbol of education, particularly in the ancient worlds.

"Raphael used to correspond regularly with Ragnor - they were, surprising as it might be - quite good friends." Magnus flicks the coin up, catching it as it falls. "This coin is charmed with luck by a nixie Raphael had helped, once. The fey are quite enamoured with good deeds, and often pay in respect with whatever fortune they deem fitting."

His eyes, unglamoured, dart over. "I only know this because Ragnor had bragged about it, like it was a gift - I swear to you, Alexander, they were as much like an old married couple as you'd expect. It was the mutual grump and their general distaste for much of what I did, I think, that kept them close."

He exhales softly. "He would have liked you, though. Not at first - he hates everyone at first - but I do believe he would have grown quite fond of you."

"I'm sorry I never got to meet him," Alec strokes his hand lightly up Magnus' back. "And I'm sorry, that he passed."

"Death takes us all, eventually. It's not like he lived a fleeting or uneventful life. He had a good time while he was here." Magnus twirls the coin again, flashes of bronze dancing through his fingers. "And I got the chance to say goodbye. Many people don't even get that."

"I'm still sorry," Alec whispers. "I've never felt, grief, not like this - and if I could take it from you, I would."

"It's not the first time, Alexander, and I sincerely doubt it will be the last." Magnus' tone echoes a history of loss that grates at Alec's core.

Neither of them mention it, but Alec knows that Magnus is thinking the same he is, that one day Alec will leave the way Ragnor had, that there will be a day where Alec will cause Magnus the same twisted grief. A phantom chill spreads across Alec's arms, despite his jacket, and he tightens his arm around Magnus' waist, just holding him, for the comfort of them both.

"Would you like me to call Raphael for you?" Alec asks, soothing his hand over Magnus' side.

Magnus pauses, considers, then shakes his head. "I don't think I'd be much help to him, in this time. He tends to ignore grief like an obnoxious door-to-door salesperson, pretending it's not there and waiting for it to pass without his acknowledgement. I, as you can see, take a far more visceral approach to things."

Alec bends, pressing a kiss to Magnus' robed shoulder. "Everyone handles grief and loss differently. I'm admittedly not all that surprised at how you deal with it."

Magnus raises an eyebrow, silently.

"Well," Alec waves his free hand, searching for words that won't flood Magnus with tears. "You're a very ... lively person, you put your entire soul into everything, into the way you move and speak and feel - you're as heartfelt in loss as you are in love, and it's just a testament to how invested you are in the people you care for."

"Still waters run deep," Magnus mutters beneath his breath, almost like an afterthought. "I'll call Raphael tomorrow, and ask if he wants it back - I'm presuming he will. I have things to remember my time with Ragnor by, and he should be allowed the same."

Alec presses kisses in a hesitant line across Magnus' shoulder. Magnus tilts his head, eyes shining with implorable awe. Alec continues his idle strokes, trusting that if Magnus has something he wants, or needs to say, he will, when he's ready and not a moment before.

Magnus lifts his hand, cupping Alec's face with a gentleness that hurts. Alec isn't made of glass, he's not fragile - he can, under extenuating circumstances, break a person's neck with an accurately placed hit to the vertebrae. Yet, here Magnus is, treating him as though one wrong move will shatter everything between them. It hasn't been like this since the beginning stages of their relationship, back when everything was new and Alec was so unsure he felt like he was constantly treading on thin ice.

"Thank you," Magnus whispers, voice frail. "For staying. For just - for being here, with me."

"You asked me too," Alec shrugs his shoulder loosely. "So I did. I told you, I would do anything for you. I can't imagine what you're going through, the depths of your pain, but if I can ease it in any way, I will. I want to help, Magnus. I love you."

Magnus shakes his head, an almost imperceptible move. "Some days I don't think that I deserve you." He admits, a little self-deprecatingly.

"Too bad." Alec, a little braver, kisses Magnus' cheek. "You have me. And I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," A glimpse of light is slowly beginning to leak into Magnus' eyes. "I don't think I could handle losing you too."

It's not his right, Alec tells himself, blinking back unshed tears. It's not his right to cry, not now. Magnus has the monopoly on that today.

"You won't," He promises, though he knows he's not supposed to.

Magnus blinks at him, something fond and a little bittersweet curving his mouth into the ghost of a smile. Alec knows that, logically, he probably understands the impossibility of Alec's promise. That he can't ensure such a claim will ring true with the dangerous occupation he keeps.

But he's not about to tell Magnus he could die tomorrow. No point twisting the knife any further. Magnus needs love and reassurance and comfort, and someone to remind him that things will be okay, eventually, even if the path to a better time is stretched out eternally.

They sit there, together, Alec tracing soothing patterns against Magnus' robed back, Magnus spinning the coin back and forth, the silence heavy but not oppressively so. There's a pulsing tightness to Magnus' jaw, that Alec keeps note of, a rigidity to his shoulders that speaks towards ticking cogs and bouncing thoughts, uncontainable like the man himself.

Alec used to think that Magnus was this impossible enigma, a god amongst men, more powerful than the imagination can fathom, more to him than anyone will ever truly grasp. Magnus was this untouchable force, beautiful and fascinating and utterly terrifying, for more than just the blue smoke he wields.

He's discovered since, that isn't entirely true.

Yes, Magnus is one of the most powerful beings that walk the earth - he'd become High Warlock for a reason, after all. He's skilled and wise and could level a building with the sweep of his arms, and has a past as tragic and dark as befits an immortal with eternity before them. His magic is a stronger weapon than any the entire Clave have in their armoury.

He's also, despite his unwillingness to admit it, completely human. He has fears and worries, things he loves and things he loathes - he's not cold or untouchable, he's not an immovable force.

He's a person. He makes mistakes. He's done things he regrets. Lost people he should have held tighter to. Cut out others he should never have trusted. If anything, he feels  _deeper_  than others, he takes everything that comes his way and lets it fuse with him, takes the love of others and lets it carry him like wings, takes hate and lets it bear down on his shoulders like an unyielding weight.

Lets loss bury under his skin and taint his perception until he can't turn without running into a brick wall of despair.

Alec has learnt a lot since he met Magnus. About himself, the truth of the world around him, and he's discovered a lot about Magnus that he's sure few others are aware of.

Magnus isn't omnipotent. He's utterly, devastatingly human.

 

* * *

 

 

Alec disappears, with a kiss on Magnus' head and a murmured "be right back". Magnus watches him depart the room, almost mournfully. He knows that Alec is going to come back, he promised he wouldn't leave, but there's something comforting about being able to touch him, and now that physical reminder has been torn from him.

Magnus curls further into the corner of the seat, the coin a paperweight in his palm. Catarina had found it when she'd cleared up Ragnor's old room at the Academy - there's talk of it being reopened. He's been asked, a few times actually, if he's interested in guest-lecturing.

It's an interesting proposition, but he can't abandon his current project. Alec, Maia Roberts, Lily Chen and himself are making considerable movement in Shadow World relations, now that Valentine and his power-hungry legacy are nothing more than dust in the wind.

Let the Academy pull itself up before he dares set foot in there. He won't subject himself to discrimination where he can avoid it.

A half-hearted wave finds the coin resting in a silk pouch on his vanity. He'll return it to Raphael tomorrow; he can barely summon the energy to move from his seat, the day draining him more than he'd even anticipated.

Alec had left the door open when he left, so it doesn't take much attention for Magnus to notice his return, a delicate porcelain tray held between his strong hands. He smiles, hesitantly, with his eyes - his mouth a deliberately thin line - and it's more of a comfort than he probably realises.

"Chamomile," Alec says, once he's close enough to be heard. "I remember you saying once, that it's calming, and relaxing and-" He ducks his gaze, momentarily, before those sharp, studious hazel eyes flick up through coal lashes. "I thought it might help."

"Thank you," Magnus says, surprised by his own - surprise.

Alec is notoriously bad at feeling helpless, he always has to be doing something, and that extends to situations such as this. It shouldn't fill Magnus with a fresh wave of awe, that Alec has gone to the efforts he has - even still, after all they've been through, after all Alec has already done, this small gesture speaks volumes above the others.

Alec nods, curtly, lowering the tray so that Magnus can take his cup from it. There's a small bowl with cracked walnuts on the tray, a gesture which causes something inside Magnus to topple, and a dusty pink to light the highs of Alec's cheeks.

"I assumed you wouldn't have eaten much today," Alec explains, still standing there. "And these are small and light, so they shouldn't upset your stomach."

Magnus' chest clenches tightly. He's breathing fine, though his lungs claim a different story, and there's a buzz that spreads over his skin like wildfire. He cradles his cup in his hands, the warmth seeping into the cold tips of his fingers. The scent of the tea wafts up, familiar and spiced, and though his sips are slow, the heat spreads through him quickly. Alec knows what he's doing, even if he's apprehensive that he doesn't.

"You can sit," He mutters against the rim of his cup. "You're my boyfriend, not my butler."

Alec jerks, returning to his spot at Magnus' side, tray still clutched in his hand. Something fond pokes at Magnus. He glances sideways, catching Alec looking at him with an overwhelming strength of love it's almost enough to knock him over. He knows that Alec loves him, more than he thinks he's worthy of somedays, but seeing it so pure and unadulterated is more striking than any words could hope to be.

"I was thinking," Alec taps his finger lightly against the side of the tray. "I could, maybe, run you a bath, if you want?"

He's scrambling, Magnus can see it in the nervous rhythm of his taps and the erratic flutter of his lashes. Anything to help, anything to ease what Magnus is going through, because his heart is too big to fit inside the cavern of his ribs and help is something he can't contain. Not for the first time, Magnus thanks the universe for the impossible gift that is Alexander Lightwood.

The pain has dulled to an ache that, while ever-present, is a little easier to breathe through. It flares up at inopportune moments, but he doesn't feel like enacting a sleeping curse upon himself, and he can see further than the darker outreach of his anguish.

The metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel, while still far, is no longer unattainable.

"Is there any lengths you wouldn't go to?" Magnus asks, curiously. "To help?"

"For you?" Alec doesn't even spare a second to consider the gravity of the question. "No. Never."

Magnus brushes his knuckles against Alec's cheek, curling against his jaw. He exhales, slowly, mouth parting without words, taking in every note of Alec's expression. He never gets tired of looking at Alec, feels the same thrilling rush with each kiss as he had the very first time.

Alec melts gently into Magnus' touch, his mouth soft against Magnus', warm and reassuring. Magnus' lids flutter closed, even as they pull back, his forehead resting against Alec's. He just needs a moment, to settle his thoughts and sort his emotions into labeled boxes he can better understand; anger, hurt, sadness, relief, gratitude.

Alec's looking at him, apprehensively, when Magnus opens his eyes.

"A bath sounds wonderful, darling."

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus has always prided himself on being powerful. Invulnerable, though unfortunately not indestructable.

Letting someone see the sides of him he's spent so long hiding from view is more than just a testament of trust and love, it's a physical effort, because despite his best attempts to prove otherwise, he isn't perfect.

There's darkness and horror in his past, and out of everyone, he'd hoped Alec wouldn't have to see it. Of course, with all the tragedy that Valentine had caused, that hope was quickly distinguished. Fortunately, or perhaps gracefully, knowing the truth hasn't changed anything between them; Alec has been more attentive, admittedly, but not in a pitying way. He's tried to prove to Magnus that it doesn't bother him, in any way, that he still loves him, that they all have the capacity for dark things inside them, Alec included.

It's no easier to open himself up without fear, as a man with immense pride, but his doubts are consistently proved to be pointless.

Alec hasn't abandoned him yet. After all he's been witness to, the fact that he's still around leaves Magnus sure that there isn't anything that will scare him off. A fact both startling and comforting.

As is the delicate care that Alec takes to ease Magnus' pain.

Alec had taken the time to strip Magnus of his robe, placing achingly soft kisses at each point of revealing skin, before removing the arrowhead necklace carefully, which he placed delicately on the ensuite bench.

Once in the bath, and at Magnus' nod of consent, he'd slid behind, legs around Magnus' hips in his indulgently large bath, and begun lathering scented shampoo into his dark locks. It was only once Alec had moved onto the conditioner, that Magnus had allowed himself to tip backwards, trusting Alec, melting into the soothing rub of his hands over Magnus' scalp. They'd settled in the hot bath and enjoyed the silence, Magnus pleasantly comforted by the steady beat of Alec's heart beneath his ear, and the tight hold of Alec's arms wrapped protectively around him, safe from everything, his own self-induced harm included. After what could only be hours, Alec had kissed Magnus' temple, to let him know he was done, and together they clambered out of the bath.

Magnus was loose-limbed and relaxed, like he hadn't been in what felt like forever - then Alec started rubbing sandalwood moisturiser over his skin, digging his thumbs into his muscles and soothing out the tight knots that had formed over the day, and all the tension inside of Magnus simply fell away, like it had never been strung in the first place.

The emotional weight of the day was still there, resting on his shoulders, the truth of it bouncing around the background of his mind, but he didn't let it stop himself from enjoying the fleeting release, especially considering the attentiveness Alec had put into helping. It would be rather pointless to dismiss it, so Magnus tried his best not to.

Now, Magnus is swaddled up in bed, a fresh cup of chamomile in hand, watching with a hint of amusement as Alec struggles to get off the phone. He'd messaged Isabelle - once certain that Magnus was, all things considered, relatively okay - to make sure the Institute hasn't burnt down in his untimely absence.

From the snatches of conversation Magnus has managed to pick up on, it sounds as though Isabelle has taken Alec off all patrols for tomorrow, delegated his paperwork out to people she insists are perfectly capable, herself included, and overall kicked him out of the Institute for the next twenty-four hours, at least.

Alec hasn't mentioned the root of Magnus' uncharacteristic silence, for which Magnus is infinitely grateful, but nonetheless Isabelle seems to have decided that Alec needs to be with Magnus more than the Institute needs him there, and refuses to let him back any earlier than she's deemed fitting.

It's heartwarming, a common enough trait amongst the Lightwood siblings, and Magnus isn't all that surprised.

Alec keeps trying to overrule her, going so far as to try bargaining, promising not to leave the apartment if she at least sends paperwork over, considering he is still in charge. The conversation has been turning over in the same circles for at least fifteen minutes, and Magnus doesn't see it heading in Alec's favour any time soon.

Alec doesn't want to compromise his duties, from either side. Leaving Magnus in the delicate state he currently finds himself would be neglecting his boyfriend, and not attending to the Insitute would be breaching the trust instilled in him for accomplishment of his roles. Alec's trying his best to do both, pulling himself to different sides, and if he's not careful, he will snap.

Magnus has seen it happen to the best. It's happened to him. The last thing he wants is for it to happen to Alec. Ever since he came home, Alec has been helping Magnus in any way he can, and it's time to return the favour.

There's a heaviness resting on his chest like a boulder, but he forces himself to breathe around it.

"Alexander," He smiles, as much as he can, as Alec immediately turns around. Alec raises a curious eyebrow, a thread of tension to the form of his shoulders, phone still pressed tightly to his ear.

Magnus tilts his head, just slightly, beckoning in a way. "Let your darling sister go, you know she's more than capable of handling things in your absence. It's late, angel, and I'm certain you're as fatigued as I am. Come to bed."

Something in Alec loosens. He nods, dazed, and mutters something quick and low into the speaker of the phone. The only thing Magnus catches is a softly-spoken "love you, too, Iz" before Alec promptly hangs up the phone. He deflates, exhaling with a low sigh, his limbs slacking in as relaxed a way as Alec ever allows himself.

"Sorry," He murmurs, dropping his phone onto the bedside table. "I know I should trust her, and I do, but-" Alec drags a hand through his hair, gaze imploring as it locks on Magnus'. "You know me, you know I hate relinquishing control. Feeling like there's more I should be doing."

"It's one of the things I love most about you," Magnus acknowledges, pulling the sheets of Alec's side back. "But Alexander, my sweet, there isn't anything you can realistically do, so close to midnight. Your sister is exceptionally skilled, and capable, and I promise the Institute will still be there tomorrow."

Alec lets out a slip of warm laughter, collapsing half-heartedly onto the bed, one leg hanging over the side. "If Izzy gets her way, and she's trying to, I won't be let in for the rest of the week."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Magnus dares.

"Hm." Alec shrugs, smile betraying his nonchalance. "Perhaps not."

Magnus swallows the last dregs of tea and returns the cup to the porcelain plate on his bedside table. Alec's watching him, quiet and studious, as though he's worried that if he doesn't keep an eye on Magnus, he'll spiral, a man teetering on a cliff-edge of tormented misery, one breath away from tumbling down.

"I'm not made of glass," Magnus promises Alec softly. "You can trust I won't break."

Alec's cheeks brighten. "I know, I'm just - I'm just worried. I can't help it. I'm sorry."

Magnus doubts he'll ever get past the rush of feeling that Alec provides him with. He shuffles closer, slipping beneath Alec's outstretched arm, head pressed to Alec's broad chest. "There's nothing to be sorry about," Magnus tucks his leg slowly between Alec's, intertwining their bodies tightly. "Your concern is warming, Alexander, and I appreciate it. But I'm feeling better. Not okay, and not happy, but better. You've helped, a lot."

 _More than, perhaps, even you realise._ He thinks, but does not say.

"Sometimes, I wonder if it's partially my fault," Alec admits, dropping a kiss to the top of Magnus' head. "If I'd just come on the mission with you, perhaps the demon wouldn't have been able to get a drop on Ragnor."

"Neither Clary, Jace, nor myself managed to stop the demon's attack." Magnus struggles to keep his voice even, palm splayed over Alec's ribcage. " _Ragnor_ , didn't sense it, and his wards were enforced more heavily than mine. However that demon ended up getting in, it was with a power behind it stronger than any of us possess. Even with your,  _heavenly_ skills, I feel that fate would still follow the same path."

"Fate is stupid," Alec mumbles. "The idea that everything is laid out before you, with no way to change it or stop it - how unfair is that?"

Magnus hums, pressing a tight-lipped kiss to Alec's chest. "The universe works in mysterious ways. Not always ones understandable, but with a purpose nontheless."

"Centuries have made you pretty wise..." Alec's heart beats steadily, despite the waver in his tone. "Is it harder, having endless time but no control?" He sighs, words escaping him. "I mean, you can learn from your mistakes, and you can try and plan for the future, but in the end..."

He fades out, words ringing in the maudlin silence. Magnus brushes his lips against the cut of Alec's sternum, muscles firm beneath his mouth. It's a difficult question to address, but Alec's curiosity is piqued, and this kind of discussion will only form a new thread between them, something strong and near-unbreakable.

Magnus has, in lesser words, promised Alec his future. To give him that, he must also bear the shards of his past.

"Immortals are no greater than mortals in that sense," Magnus sighs. It's never easy to admit weakness. "Things are going to happen, Alexander. Good things, bad things-" He lifts his head, glancing up at Alec's forest eyes. "Undeniably great things."

Alec's mouth curves, ever-so-slightly.

"The point is not to let the pressure of unknowable time weigh down on your shoulders." Magnus explains as well as he can, per what he's come to know of it. "Attempting to fight something you can't change will only leave you exhausted - events will, most likely, still evolve the same."

"It's so-" Alec looks lost, but more from a secondhand degree. "Somber. How does it - how do you find a purpose in something so overwhelmingly pointless?"

Magnus has shared a piece of his heart with each person he's ever loved, and his soul belongs to his magic, an inescapable tether.

He'd give it all to Alec, no questions even pondered. Alec owns it all, anyway, though not in name.

Not yet.

"You search for it." Magnus leans forward his lips brushing against the sweep of Alec's jaw, his pink cheek, the crease of laughter lines at the corner of his eyes. Committing it all to memory. "Search for the beauty in the uninviting grim. Create something worth remembering, cherish something worth holding-"

His lips close over Alec's, brief and sweet. Alec's eyes are shining like cut jadeite, coal lashes fluttering between glimpses of glittering awe. "Love someone who deserves the world, and give it to them."

Alec lifts a hand, cradles Magnus' jaw with delicate care, pressing a fleeting peck to the corner of Magnus' mouth. "How come every time I try and console you, it ends up being flipped and I'm the one comforted?"

A pleasant rise of giggles spill from between Magnus' slightly parted mouth. "Years of skill," He claims, still amused. "And a good sense of what you need."

"It shouldn't be about what I need, though." Alec protests, thumb idly stroking Magnus' cheek. "It's about you. I should be the one offering comfort, not greedily taking it."

"You are not taking anything I'm not willing to give," Magnus reassures him, humbled by Alec's unfailing desire to protect. "And you are offering comfort, by distracting me. Reminding me that there is more to life than death, despite the morbid focus we all place on it."

"Really?"

The wave of awe-inspired fondness that crashes over him is startling, but by no means unwelcome. It often comes at surprising points, much like Alec himself. "Alexander, my love, your mere presence is enough to comfort me. Not fix, but comfort."

Alec's hand slides to cup the back of Magnus' neck. "Good." He says, voice faint. "I'm glad I could - I'm glad you're feeling better, now. Considerably."

"With you here," Magnus smiles, not as strained as before. "How could I not?"

 

* * *

 

A cold chill settles over the room, disrupting Magnus' slumber and drawing him reluctantly from it. Moonlight dips into the room with streaks of silver, attesting to the late time and reminding him that he should, by all means, be asleep.

Magnus rubs at bleary eyes, struggling to wake up, but getting the sense that he must.

"My dear friend, you look a mess."

Magnus shoots up, chest heaving with breaths he can't inhale quick enough. Alec shuffles beside him, arm still flung around Magnus' waist loosely. He always seems to be touching him, somewhere, somehow, as though even in sleep he needs the reassurance that Magnus is there.

Magnus would like some reassurance that he's not going insane - it's the only explanation for seeing the figure of his long-dead friend, perched on the leather armchair Magnus was sure he'd left in the library, one long leg folded elegantly over the other.

Ragnor isn't wearing his glamour, skin an emerald green and hair a snowy ice-white, horns curled up, donned in the same sweeping coat with flared lace sleeves and fitted pants he'd worn the last time Magnus had seen him, eyes dark and piercing and alive in a haunting way.

"You're dead." Magnus gasps, hand reaching up to clutch at his chest, fingers caught in the fabric of a faded grey top he'd repurposed from Alec. "You're dead, I saw it, I saw you die, you're not - you're not actually  _here._ "

Ragnor's mouth turns down, sadness painting his features. He looks so real that Magnus would let himself believe it, were the twist of pain like a tightly-wound rope in his gut not so achingly present. He's already lost Ragnor once, he doesn't want to fool himself into believing a false truth and go through it all again.

"You've always been one for drama, haven't you?" Ragnor doesn't shout, nor does he whisper, but his voice rings softly in the quickly suffocating atmosphere anyway. "Always at the center of the century's biggest scandal. I much prefer to keep the same relationship with drama, as I do chaos - observation, not inclusion."

"Present tense is rather pointless if you're not alive, isn't it?" Magnus snaps. He understands it's just his mind playing a cruel trick on him, much like it had before the fateful wedding that never was. Ragnor's death had been fresh and his presence reassuring, back then.

Now, it's like tearing open an old wound and slowly dripping salt into it.

"I know you're hurting, Magnus, and I'm sorry - it's not as though I planned my own death." Ragnor's mouth turns up wryly. "I had intended to go out in a far  _cleaner_  way, one that didn't involve beads of blood spotting my vest and ruining my bespoke coat."

Magnus rolls his eyes, despite his better instincts. Giving in is dangerous, but this - figment of his imagination reflects the Ragnor he loved, and loved to annoy, so much that it's hard. Everyone claims that Magnus is the one with the flair for the dramatics, but Ragnor is just as theatrical when he wants to be.

Wanted to be.

"What are you doing here?" Magnus asks, sounding more pitiful and weak than he'd allow around others. Ragnor has seen him at his very worst, and not only does he trust Alec - his darling Shadowhunter is asleep, and likely not aware of the more-or-less one-sided conversation currently occurring, so he can be as ashamedly weak as he pleases.

"I came to check up on you," Ragnor states, eyebrows narrowing sharply. "I've seen you in states of grief before, and you're very unlikely to take care of yourself. I was concerned this day would be no different."

Magnus thinks back, to his shattered phone and the gnawing hunger in his stomach that still hasn't quite eased - despite the almonds Alec had helpfully offered; not to mention the mess he'd been when Alec had found him in the evening, huddled by the window, mind as dark and erratic as his appearance.

"You say the worst things about me," Magnus pulls himself up, Alec's hand shifting to rest on his leg. "Some of them aren't even true."

"Just because you are timeless, doesn't mean you are invincible, Magnus." Ragnor settles back in the chair, eased and relaxed in his posture, though not his tight expression. "Just because I am no longer alive, doesn't mean you have to stop living."

"It's not right," Magnus laments. "It's not right that you're gone, that evil like Camille and Valentine are able to flaunt the streets with their presence and you're not."

"Last I heard," Ragnor muses. "Valentine was dead. And I lived a pleasurable life, my dear friend, it's not as though I've missed out on much. There are people who get less time on this earth than I did, those are the people for whom this isn't fair."

Magnus blames his grief, his fatigue, his innate young-at-heart whims for his petulant response. "I don't know those people..." He stares at Ragnor, not-Ragnor, Ragnor's ghost - whatever the entity is - imploringly. "I don't miss them, like I miss you."

Ragnor leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. He's looking at Magnus like he's lost, or perhaps Magnus is the one who's really lost, clutching at his sheets like they're the only tether to real life, bar Alec's heavy and lethargic form spread over him.

"My dear fellow, I'm never truly gone. Out of sight, perhaps, but I'm here when you need me." His gaze flickers, quickly, to Alec and then back to Magnus. "You simply haven't. Not for a long while, now."

As though sensing he's being talked about, Alec rolls onto his stomach, light snores filling the air, a staccato vibration. His hair is spread in dark tufts, nose scrunched as dreams run through his mind and restorative sleep keeps him under. Magnus spares what is supposed to be a fleeting glance, but which quickly turns into a fond stare; he's never found it easy to pull his gaze from Alec.

"Does he treat you well, my friend?" Ragnor asks, though Magnus suspects he already knows the answers. Teasing in the subtle way he loves most.

"Yes," Magnus thinks of all the tiny ways that Alec cares, the breakfasts in bed and the coffees when he's deep in translation of an ancient text, the omamori charm at the beginning of their relationship, the thoughtfulness he puts into everything he does, the care he'd taken today.

"Yes, he does."

"Good." Ragnor seems to ease at that, like the last ounce of tension he'd been holding onto has dissipated completely. "You deserve someone who loves you whole-heartedly. Who treats you right. I'm glad you've finally found the person meant for you."

Something warm glows inside Magnus' chest. He doesn't contest Ragnor's statement. Six months ago, he probably would have, would have tried to fight against the notion that Alec is the infamous 'one' that's been eluding him his entire life. He'd lost hope in the idea of finding that person that just  _fit_ , no awkward edges or non-conforming corners - not because he thought he'd never find love again, but more because he never thought he'd find a perfect love like what he has with Alec.

There was always something that tainted the exchange of feelings; they never loved him back, or he scared them, his immortality was intimidating, he couldn't give them the life they desired, he couldn't promise them 'till death do us part' because death was an improbability for him, not a certainty.

And then Alec had stumbled into his peripheral and Magnus thought  _finally, after all the running around, all the heartache and the troubles - finally I have found one that fits._

If the theoretical idea of 'the one' truly exists, than Alec is it for Magnus.

"He's rather, young." Ragnor comments, stroking his right horn with an idle hand. "You never told me much about him. And a Shadowhunter, at that. It's all or nothing, isn't it?"

"He's over eighteen," Magnus states, defensive and a little affronted, though it's not without a thread of amusement. The three of them, Ragnor, Catarina and himself, had made a deal, whilst somewhat tipsy, never to date someone younger than eighteen. Ragnor has always been very serious about it.

"And believe me,  _mon chou_ , I did not intend to fall for a Shadowhunter. I thought myself a right fool for quite a reasonable amount of time after the first influx of feelings, but alas, love has no rules or restrictions. Besides, if there was ever a Shadowhunter I'd be happy to fall in love with, it is Alexander. He's different."

Ragnor casts his eyes skyward. "You say that about everyone you have any ounce of feelings for. Remember that Seelie girl you had a wayward fling with in the seventies? 1870's, that is. She tried to kidnap you and keep you in the Seelie Court because she'd fallen in love with you, and then you found yourself in a battle with her brother in the name of her heart, which you weren't really that interested in anyway."

"We all make mistakes," Magnus states, dismissively. "You once drunk-proposed to Raphael, so you are not exactly one to criticise."

Ragnor fixes a stern glare on Magnus, a daring glint in his eyes, dangerous for its rarity. "Shall we get into what you've done whilst drunk?"

"You know, I'd rather not." Magnus has done a lot of rather stupid things whilst drunk. He has little filter, or common sense under the intoxication of alcohol.

The memories paradoxically lift him up, and crush him, the joy he'd felt carrying him like wings, only to be burdened by the reminder that memories are all he has left, that none of what he's currently experiencing is real; if it's not a dream, or a hallucination, than Ragnor is a ghost, and they only tend to appear at the upmost important moments, that call for otherworldly advice, and disappear soon after.

"I miss this," Magnus admits, quietly. "I miss having a sardonic friend to quip and tease with, even at the expense of my own humility."

"I am sorry," Ragnor stands up, with a delicate elegance, elbows tucked to his sides. "I didn't wish to just, up and leave like this. I'd truly expected to suffer your annoying presence for another couple of centuries, at least. Unfortunately, things do not always work out the way we'd like them to. We simply have to roll with the punches as they happen."

"Easy for you to say," Magnus mutters. "All your punches are metaphysical. Mine sting."

Ragnor crosses the room, casting a surreptitious glance at Alec, before rounding the bed to stand at Magnus' side. Magnus watches with tense, bated breath, skin tingling with anticipation - this feels like the point where he blinks, and Ragnor is gone, an empty space left where he once stood. He doesn't want Ragnor to disappear. He, selfishly, wants to clutch onto him and keep him until his own last breath leaves him.

Magnus knows that he can't. But the foolish, self-centered part of him is desperate to hold onto what little hope he can summon.

"A question for you," Ragnor reaches out, cupping Magnus' cheek gently. His hand is warm and almost-corporeal, though not entirely. It doesn't pass through, and he can sense it, but there's something different to it, something eerie and not-so-physical.

"Are you happy?" Ragnor asks, eyes searching.

The answer comes quickly and without a spared thought. "Yes"

Ragnor smiles, fond and bittersweet. "Then that is all I could have ever wished for." He leans forward, brushing a brief kiss against Magnus' forehead. Magnus' eyes flutter closed, heart clenching painfully. "Take care - of him, but more importantly, of yourself, Magnus. Do not let something good slip away just because you think you don't deserve it."

Magnus inhales deeply. When he opens his eyes, Ragnor is gone, the only hint he'd ever been there the phantom press of his hand on Magnus' cheek, and the faint scent of spring petrichor and old books.

 

* * *

 

When Magnus is pulled from sleep again, it is not with a jolt or a start, but instead a slow sense of wakeful peace.

The weight from the day before has eased, his lungs not as tight, the air inside roaming without constriction. His heart aches around the edges, but it's distant and not much of a hindrance, more of a noticeable infliction. It's something he'll carry with him, likely, for the rest of time, but he's learnt to cope with such a throb in the past, and it will simply add to the invisible wounds he already carries.

His gaze turns to Alec, as it always does, to the curve of dark lashes against soft cheeks, the curling  _deflect_  rune on his neck and protruding wingspan of collarbone beneath his tucked chin. The discomfort lessens, replaced by an unbelievably light flood of affection, spreading from his temples down to the tips of his painted toes.

Sometimes, Magnus wonders how he got so lucky. How he, with his demonic lineage and string of immoral and depraved acts painting the tapestry of his past, managed to fall for a soul as brilliant and glowing as Alec's, and by some unimaginable fortune had his feelings returned, as whole-heartedly, if not stronger, than he'd presented them.

"Mags?"

Alec blinks blearily, sleep tugging his mouth into a thin line, though the corners twist in a smile when Magnus brushes his hair back from his face gently. Alec's hazel eyes shine with a love that is strong enough to drown in, and Magnus doubts he'll ever tire of waking up to such a beautiful sight in the morning.

"Good morning, Alexander."

Alec rubs a hand over his face, fingers scratching lightly at the hint of unshaven stubble on his jaw. His mouth is still turned in a fond smile, and it's the knowledge that the smile is for and because of Magnus that chips away at what little ice had still frozen over his heart.

"How are you feeling?" Alec asks, stroking his fingers over Magnus' arm with a butterfly touch. "Did you get much sleep last night? I wanted to stay up with you, even considered activating my  _stamina_ rune or downing a pot of coffee-" The words, though a little ridiculous, are spoken with nothing but sincerity. "To make sure that you were okay, but I was more tired than I thought, and I drifted off before I got the chance."

"The thought is undeniably charming," Magnus presses a feather-light kiss to Alec's nose, admiring the pink that rises on Alec's cheeks, the glittering awe in his eyes. "But unnecessary. I slept, fairly well all things considered, and I'm feeling a lot better now than I did yesterday."

(He keeps out the dream, the hallucination of Ragnor; he's still unsure of what had happened, and he can't very well admit what he doesn't know.)

Honesty, whilst something Magnus strives to stand by, is not always easy. Even around Alec, who he trusts with the world, there are some things that are not as easy to say as they are to think.

It is the testament of trust and love that he pushes past the difficulty to speak the truth.

"I was not in a very good place, yesterday." Magnus traces the  _Courage in Combat_ rune covering the edge of Alec's ribs - he's spent many a languid evening discovering the names and purposes behind each black mark that Alec bears, and each silver scar that tracks runes he's utilised in the past, ensuring a kiss was placed on each mark, used or otherwise.

Loving a Shadowhunter comes with the territory of facing their mortality, the incredibly daunting likelihood of their imminent demise, and learning the runes that help keep Alec safe is a part of working towards acceptance that one day, he won't come home.

It's not easy, and he's certainly not there yet, but he's working on it.

"Anniversaries, of yesterday's particular brand, are not something I find easy to deal with. I tend to push them into my subconscious and neglect the reminder until it's too late - it always feels easier to put off something you detest associating with, until it unfortunately creeps back up on you without notice."

Alec's left eye squints, rather adorably, but he doesn't intercept. Just watches, and listens, as kind and patient as ever.

"I've never actually had anyone to ... never had anyone around to help me cope, with such an event. I wasn't sure how to go about including you in what is such an internal and reclusive time of reflection. I didn't want to push you away, either, though."

"You could have told me to leave you alone," Alec cuts in, voice gentle. "And I would have."

"I know," Magnus slides his hand until it's resting over Alec's heart, the steady beat reassuring and settling. "That's what made it, considerably easier, to let you in. Knowing I didn't have to, encouraged me to do just that."

"Well," Alec's hand closes around Magnus' firm bicep. "I'm honoured. That you feel comfortable letting me in."

Magnus laughs, softly. He can't help himself. "Alexander. Love of my immortal life. We've been together for, essentially but not-quite a year, and you still think there is anything I'd keep from you?"

Alec shrugs, cheeks pink. "When you put it like that, it sounds a little ridiculous."

Magnus' heart swells like the Grinch's. He presses his lips to Alec's, with a deliberate lack of haste, losing himself in Alec's supple bottom lip between his, the scratch of stubble on his chin, the gentle bump of their noses. It's a kiss of care and love between two people who don't have time or concern for anything but each other.

Magnus pulls back, forehead resting against Alec's. Alec's eyes are still closed, and Magnus is about to say something - he's not sure what, just plans on letting his heart take control - when something catches his attention.

His heart jumps into his throat, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Alec's hand tightens on his arm, as he presses impossibly close to Magnus, eyes narrowed and studious. "Magnus?" He asks, voice dripping with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Magnus mutters, voice heavy with withheld sobs. "Nothing is wrong, Alexander. Nothing at all."

Aligned next to the window seat, at a deliberate and particular angle to get the best morning light, rests a brown leather armchair that belongs to the 60's - that belongs in the library.

Magnus actually thinks it's in a better place now.

**Author's Note:**

> the whole 'stamina rune for staying up late' is inspired by [this post](http://abloodneed.tumblr.com/post/162618768734/okay-so-what-do-you-think-about-non-sexual%20) and it is a headcanon I readily accept.
> 
> (as always thanks to the Shadowhunter's Codex for helping me fact-check, and the Shadowhunter's wiki for reminding me of important things I'd somehow forgotten. this fic literally wouldn't have turned out the way it did without either of these)
> 
> Once again, my endless gratitude to boldbiscuit - your support is overwhelming. I hope you enjoyed this, and that the angst, in particular, is what you were looking for. ❤️
> 
> \--
> 
> If you want to request a fic, feel free to leave a prompt + pairing in my tumblr inbox or comment section (platonic and romantic ships welcome) but please don't get upset if it takes me a while to get to them, as I have been given a few prompts in bulk and some of them are quite extensive. I am working on them, I promise.
> 
> Any prompt/pairing is welcome (within reason) as are specific themes (such as World Inverted AU or college AU etc.) if you'd like, from [this list](https://literallylin.tumblr.com/post/156198011711/prompt-list)
> 
> thank you for reading! - [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) and [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com)


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